Goodbye to a Friend

If you’re like me, you returned home from work/school/prison release on Tuesday night with your heart a little heavier than when you left in the morning. Yes, you trudged through your commute home with the same muted joy of another day in the books. Sure, you gave the nightly half hearted wave to that neighbor you don’t really know (who may or may not be the same guy you saw in that half-assed “sketch” of a bank robber on the news). But it wasn’t the same. It never would be again. Bob Barker announced he was retiring – and you were left to pick up the pieces.

You probably can’t remember the first time you met him. I know I can’t. It was as if after a while he was just there in your life. A fixture. Not unlike your favorite toy (for me a plastic fork) or perhaps that special aunt or uncle who always smelled weird. But Bob never smelled weird. You never lost Bob under the couch. He was always just…there. You liked that about him. It brought you a sense of comfort in life. You knew that when that booming voice yelled “C’mon down!” the bouncing (and often well-aged) bundle of joy who responded would be greeted by three other goofy bidders and our old friend Bob. It never changed – and we never wanted it to.

Perhaps that’s where we found the beauty in it all. The show was tacky. The set itself was probably a shade older than the host (and much the worse for the wear). But you didn’t care. You looked past the corny appearance of the Cliff Hanger Game (where you could almost see the stage hand crouched behind the prop moving the little mountain man up the hill) and you bought into the drama of the moment. You wanted Tom from Fresno to win that Mercury Sable and you weren’t afraid to speak your mind about his ridiculous views on the price of Advil. You rejoiced with the contestants in their victories and you wallowed in their losses, but through it all, it always came back to Bob. It was Bob who suggested you castrate your pet at every show’s end and it was Bob who invited you back. And it was for Bob that you came back. Again…and again.

And it was for Bob that you mourned a little bit on Tuesday. No matter where we end up in life, there’s perhaps no better sense of comfort than the sight of a familiar face. With 525 televisions for every 2 people in our country, it’s no small surprise that many of us have turned to our magic box for that sense of familiarity. He was always there. He was there when you were home “sick” in elementary school. He was there in those long summers when school was out. He was there…regardless. Whether you were out of school, unemployed, paralyzed in a car accident, or simply too lazy to leave the couch…you always had a friend in Bob.

Bob’s going to be leaving our lives soon. Sure, we’ll probably move on. The tide will continue to rise and fall. We’ll all have our successes and our failures. Squirrels will keep making babies and their babies will grow up to make babies (who all will find a home on my car). Life will go on. But as we continue on - he won’t be there anymore. One day you’ll be home “sick” from school or work or prison release and you’ll realize that something just isn’t “right”. You’ll have that empty feeling in the pit of your stomach as though you misplaced something but you can't quite think of what it is. Sure, you might get used to this feeling…but you’ll never like it. That’s what happens when you lose a friend.